No more melodrama.

Thanks to each and every one of you who have been supportive in myriad ways over the past six months.

The oncologist says that it is safe to assume that I am now officially Cancer Free! Yay! This is the hopefully my last entry. Ever.

Top Ten Things To Do Now That I Am Cancer Free:

1. Divest home of all things pink.
2. Do another cancer walk.
3. Eliminate Hefty Cinch Sack full of Chemo Week meds.
4. Donate shower sleeve and heating pad. (any takers?)
5. Get fit again.
6. Re-acquire taste for wine.
7. Extend pro-bono psychotherapy to cancer patients.
8. Have a party. Have many parties.
9. Grow hair.
10. Live Happily Ever After.

I dreamed the other night that I had hair. I had three inches of dark luxurious hair, darker than its ever been. I ran my fingers through it and it was as cool and silky as the river when I cool my hands off when I am kayaking, and it didn't fall out.

One last chemo week/shark week/descent into darkness, beginning with my last day in The Chair Tuesday. Can't wait to have this over with. My sister Judy is coming down to do yet another caregiver stint, and to help me celebrate the end of all this nonsense.

Awesome weekend, feeling quite normal.

Chemo Week is almost over. I think of it like Shark Week on the Discovery Channel (Jaws theme sound here please). Except I'm the one going in the shark cage, and the sharks seem to have figured out where they can find me.

Yes, now that I temporarily have cable TV, I am acquainted with not only Shark Week, but also endless re-runs of Law & Order, and worst of all: Jersey Shore. Maybe it's not chemo-brain that makes my IQ smaller, maybe it's TV Brain. Just to change things around a bit, it seems that Thursday after chemo was the worst day. Friday I slept most of the day, and Saturday seemed to approach normal.

Bjorn has made a career of being my sole caregiver this week and I am a pampered princess, thanks to him. I may forget how to cut my own food at this rate. We have walked daily, except for Thursday, and he has reminded me about pills and put food and beverages in front of me every two hours whether I am interested or not. Really good food, too.

So every day should get better from here, with return to work on Tuesday, and only one more round of chemo left!

If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it still make sound?

If hair falls out in the shower and I can't hear it, does it still make me bald?

If hair falls out in the shower and why yes, that does make me bald, does that make it so I can't savor the sunrise?

Ummm, I don't think so. The sunrise is amazing, whether or not I have hair, whether or not I have chemo, whether or not I have cancer. The river is still as glossy, the laughter with friends works its chemistry, putting in a full day's work is no less meaningful, good books are just as enjoyable. It is just as awesome to put my body in motion walking or kayaking.

Okay, the tastebuds are temporarily shot, but all of life's other pleasures are there to be wallowed in.

Sunrise. Coming daily to a venue near you.

The most recent Chemo Week seemed to go better than the previous one. Don't know why. Lower fever and lower level of pain throughout. I didn't miss any days walking, although sometimes I didn't get very far or move very fast. Maybe that made a difference. Or maybe it was the continued use of Claratin, which is rumored online to ameliorate the pain from that pesky Neulasta shot. Or having Bjorn around full time, recuperating from his shoulder surgery, so that he could wait on me hand and foot. That always perks me right up.

Fatigue, now that's another story. It's almost narcoleptic.

I went back to work on Monday and all is well. Now I'm halfway through this chemotherapy process, and that much closer to living happily ever after.

An eventful two days. Bjorn's surgery was at 9 yesterday. It went well. Phil was there and got us home by noon. Bjorn's right arm is in a sling. At the post-op appointment today the doc said he would start physical therapy this week, and will be back at work in four to six weeks. Like me with my picc line, Bjorn has to keep his incision dry in the shower. I feel so much better that I'm not the only one wearing saran wrap and tape in the shower. In fact there are probably hundreds, yea verily thousands of people routinely taking the Press and Seal out of their bathroom cabinets on a daily basis.

Then I saw the oncologist at 4:15. Among other things he said "I have to check your heart and lungs" and I said "I still have them" and he didn't laugh. Well, I tried.

Bjorn's post op was at 8 AM today, and then I had to be at the chemo lab at 10:30. It turns out that Sue is really good friends with two of the four chemo nurses who were present today, so it was a big lovefest, and passed quickly.

So after an afternoon nap we went for an ambling beach walk and got in about two miles. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Or is it the bald leading the lame?

For a fraction of a moment this blog is going to be Not All About Me. Tomorrow Bjorn has shoulder surgery. Time to divert some of those positive vibes to him. His right arm will be in a sling for who knows how long.

Tuesday I have chemo. Wednesday I get that nasty shot that sets me up for a bad weekend. So both of us will be floppin' around the condo like a pair of blind kitties during the next week. Phil and Sue cut their vacation short to come back and look after us. Caregiver of the week props to both of them.

It was a normal healthy first week back at work with much celebration and moral support from my work family. And it has been another lovely normal healthy weekend with kayaking and friends and walking, and Bjorn got a last motorcycle ride in, AND got out on his stand-up paddle board. This whole cancer experience is teaching me to savor, seriously savor, the ordinary.

My current hair care product of choice: a lint roller. Lint roller on the pillow, lint roller on the clothes, sometimes I just cut to the chase and run the lint roller over the head.

The hair.

Lets face it, inquiring minds want to know, so here's the scoop.

According to the literature and every woman I have talked to, hair starts falling out between Day 10 and Day 14 post-chemo. Yes, 100 percent of the hair, 100 percent of the time. So Day 10 was Friday and I was watching like a hawk and yes, maybe a little more than usual came out in my brush, and more on Saturday and more on Sunday.

Monday morning I combed a small poodle out of my hair, put the remainder in a loose clip on top of my head for work. Tuesday I combed out a large collie, and put the remainder in the clip. The entire time it was not in the clip I could feel it raining onto my shoulders and arms and back like the touch of little butterfly wings. Wednesday, an Old English Sheepdog fell out in the shower. I called Bjorn in the morning and asked him to cut it when I got in from work. He looked at the hair in the clip last night and said he couldn't understand why I wanted to rush this. I said "Come into the bathroom with me", ran a wide tooth comb through one section of hair, just ONE section, and thirteen pounds of hair fell out.

So we had a champagne toast to my once and future hair, and cut it off. Its chopped, not shaved. No trauma, no drama, and I am actually relieved.

Over the weekend we took Kathy and Randy's tandem kayak to the Thousand Islands and paddled both days. Monday I went back to work and that has been very energizing. Lovely to feel so good and do such normal stuff.

Whose life is this that I have walked into? There are pill bottles, PRESCRIPTION pill bottles, all over the kitchen counter. And a heating pad. There is medical body piercing in my arm. There are stacks of ornamental sleeves in the closet with which to cover the medical body piercing. There is a shower sleeve longer than my leg in the bathroom for the medical body piercing. There are four 3-ring binders entitled EOBs, Research, Medical Records, and Resources that are filling up fast.

There are wigs in the closet.

This is like some bizarre science fiction movie. (Twilight Zone Music please). I'm getting to be on a facial recognition basis with the pharmacy tech at Wal-Mart. I get snail mails and emails and PHONE CALLS from support groups. I haven't seen the inside of my office in days, and I haven't been on a kayak in a month. And as final proof that this cannot possibly be my life:

wine no longer tastes good.

Where is the woman who owns this life and would she please come retrieve it so that I can get back to mine?

I have tank tops that say Cancer Sucks, and Eff Cancer, and, thanks to my niece Kelly, I Fight Like a Girl. I've seen tank tops that say Chemo Sucks. But chemo doesn't really suck. Chemo saves lives. Since I'm interpreting the negative side effects of chemo as evidence of it destroying cancer molecules, I would say chemo and I had an extremely triumphant weekend. Saturday was probably my worst day. I hope its all on the upswing from there.

My parents, satisfied that I am going to be able to ambulate and ingest food and liquid, drove back to Atlanta on Saturday. It was a great comfort to have them here. Now Bjorn is Caregiver in Chief all over again.

Today I get to see Dr. Bashore and maybe get my stitches out. Tomorrow I have lab work at Dr. Levine's office. When these are the highlights of my days you get an idea of how ready I am to go back to work. I am more likely to die from boredom, not cancer. Thank goodness most of all for Bjorn, friends, and family who keep in touch. Without that, Netflix, and good books, I think my mind would turn to mush. Finished reading The Lion by Nelson DeMille.

I'm still observing the effects of my treatment. Every negative effect, and there have been blessed few, I interpret as a sign of the drugs and my body teaming up to kick cancer's ass.

Yesterday I walked three miles, ran some errands in the morning. Tired, and the pain set in around noon but was better after a nap. The pain has been mostly mild, just some aching. In the evening I was barely able to prop my eyelids open through dinner and had no appetite.

Today I walked two miles. I felt like I could walk three but then I thought what if I use up all my energy on this walk and then have nothing left at the end of the day. Probably just as well. I fell asleep after breakfast and again after lunch.

My most productive effort today has been to sort out the refrigerator. For three weeks my fabulous caregivers have been in charge of the fridge: Bjorn or my sisters or my parents. Mom and Dad got groceries for me today so I have enough yogurt and cantaloupe to get through another week. I hope that tomorrow is better, or at least no worse, than today. I would like to spend a little more time awake in the next 24 hour period, but whatever the body needs to heal, the body is going to get.

I wanted to have my picture taken for my first day of chemo, like when I went into the first grade. I think I did a lot better going to chemo than I did with the first grade. It helped a lot to have been to chemo with Judy a few times last year, so I knew what to expect.

I took my very expensive anti-nausea drug as directed before chemo. They also give me a version of Decadron and an anti-nausea drug in the many bags I am hooked up to. I am on a regimen of Taxotere and Cytoxin to kill any residual cancer molecules. I read and watched what was going on. My parents and Bjorn tag-teamed to hold my hand in the next chair, I was wrapped in a warm hug of a prayer shawl donated by Verna. Hooked up by 9AM, out of there by 12. Had homemade gazpacho and toasted asiago bread at home, a good nap, a mile beach walk, and Italian Courtyard for dinner.

Today I was in a Decadron euphoric manic state. Day two of the very expensive anti-nausea drug. Walked a little less than four miles this AM. It takes longer to do things like get clean and to clean my condo. Mom went wig shopping with me and we had a great time with that. Hair scheduled to fall out right about 8/3. Then we went back to the chemo place for the Neulasta shot that is supposed to keep my white blood cell count from plummeting. I wore my new wig, and I swear to God, this woman sitting next to me said "where do you go to get your hair done?" And I said "wig" and she was so positive about how she'd never guess. And then the rest of the people in the waiting room gave me some props too. That was a great boost to morale.

The Neulasta is supposed to bring on some pretty bad bone pain. We shall see. So far so good, mostly just fatigue.

One day at a time.

Current caregiver props to my parents, who were supposed to drive half way from Atlanta on Saturday and arrive on Sunday but Surprise Again, there they were at dinnertime Saturday. They are preparing tons and tons of food for me to eat now and later, whether I want to or not.

The Drains Out aka Bongo Voyage party was terrific and a real morale boost for me pre-chemo. Thanx to ALL of you who came by, whether it was just for a few minutes to Show The Luv or to enjoy a full meal.

I have been walking at dawn outside for two to four miles daily, and doing my post-surgery stretches like a good girl, to avoid frozen shoulder and so on. I am a very compliant patient. As a clinician, I tell my people "if you do this this and this you will feel better". And then they don't do it and they don't feel better, go figure. When my docs tell me what to do, I do it, and guess what, it works.

Today I saw the oncologist in the AM. He had more statistical, study based, and not really uplifting information on survival rates regarding my trifecta of cancers. On the other hand, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and this would all be moot. Dr. L says my PICC looks fine. He wrote me a prescription for "replacement hair" x 2.

I saw Dr. Bashore for a post-drain-out check this evening. He says next week I may get my stitches out.

Chemo round one tomorrow. I have been hydrating like a maniac since last night. Its supposed to help. I have lab work at 8:45 and chemo at 9:30 at the Merritt Island office. It's supposed to take three hours. I have a very powerful anti-nausea med, Emend. While my insurance pays for most stuff, it does not have a good drug plan. Prescriptions are mostly out of pocket, even after meeting the deductible. If the Emend is going to enhance my quality of life for the duration, its worth its weight in gold. Altho I believe it cost me more than its weight in gold.

Then Wednesday afternoon I go back to the MI infusion lab to get a shot of Neulasta to rebuild the white blood cell count that the chemo will wipe out.

This all definitely seems to call for retail therapy. For every dollar spent on medication and treatment I should be entitled to spend one dollar on something fun and frivolous. At this point matching my out-of-pocket expenses could provide me with a week along the French Riviera.

More blogging post chemo.

Drain Free!

PICC line is in! Exchanged one piece of body art for another. The nurse at the cancer center told me I do not have to hassle with the PICC line daily. They will flush it once a week with Heparin, and I got my first flush yesterday. Another nurse suggested that I cover it with the top part of an old sock I could cut up. This has inspired me to plan a sock shopping spree so that my PICC line cover can be color coordinated to match any outfit. Kind of like the Hello Kitty handgun stock.

Judy left on Monday, my parents are arriving Sunday.

Hope to see some of you Friday at Izzy's Bistro 6615 N. A1A Cape Canaveral. We'll just be hanging in the lounge. The food is good there too if you stay to eat.

Television aka MNTS is useless. So far I have seen one really good Hitchcock movie starring Gregory Peck, and one really bad (is there any other kind) Elvis movie. But I'm liking John Stewart and the Colbert Report. I finished reading House Rules by Jodi Picoult.

BEWARE: DRAINS OUT PARTY!!!

For those of you who have expressed your deep concern over the fate of Bongo, Dr. B says my drain is OUT OF HERE at tomorrow afternoon's appt. I can't tell you what a thrill it will be to be drain free. I'm planning to have a highly informal Drains Out celebration 7/16 this Friday evening in the lounge area of Izzy's restaurant in Cape Canaveral. If you are within the sound of this blog, come by and see me. I'll be there about 6 to about 8.

It will also be a pre-chemo party. I'm getting my first round at the infusion lab in Merritt Island on 7/20. I am overjoyed to be able to tell you that I am indeed getting the Chemo Lite package of four rounds in three months (every 21 days) instead of the giant industrial strength chemo package of eight rounds in six months. That means that this little blip in my life, and probably this blog, will largely be over by the end of September.

Tomorrow AM bright and early my friend Rose is taking me to CCH to have a PICC line put in. I had never heard of a PICC line before my oncology appt yesterday. It's a tube implanted through a vein in my arm, and chemo can be administered through it. Getting the PICC line is going to be done under local anesthesia and the procedure itself shouldn't take more than 25 minutes. Good to avoid a port and that pesky one percent chance of collapsed lung due to port placement, but I hear that upkeep on a PICC is a daily hassle.

Ok, so I can soon trade the daily hassle of shampooing, conditioning, and trying to style my hair for the daily hassle of dealing with the PICC line. I bet hair takes more time.

Today's photo is of the four of us at brunch yesterday at the Dove: Judy, Bjorn, myself, and my drain Bongo. I have given Bongo a name because we have now been connected longer than Brittany Spears and some of her husbands. Honestly, if I had known a week and a half ago that Bongo and I would have such a long-standing relationship, or that Bongo would become my inseparable fashion accessory du jour, de la semaine, I would have brought out the paint, the glitter, the indelible magic marker, and created for Bongo a really trendy and versatile Project Runway facade.

Here's a phenomenon that bears study. Not so long ago I was working about 40 hours a week at the office and several more hours at home, maintaining a great balance with a very active and satisfying social life, walking maybe six or seven hours a week, kayaking every time the wind blew right, plus the usual: grocery shopping, dry cleaning, bills, library, bank deposits, incidentals. Now all I do is sit around and heal, and somehow just that takes all my time and energy. Whats up with that?

Today Judy is taking Bongo and me to see the oncologist. I would like to pin Dr. Levine down on a date for starting chemo, find out which particular chemo cocktail I will be taking, and also have his office staff find out if my insurance company considers chemo to be a treatment that will be paid for, or if they consider it "medications" that will be an out of pocket expense to me. Then Judy will take us to see Dr. Bashore where I will appeal for an amicable separation from Bongo but again, I'm not optimistic. We may have to stop for paint, glitter, and indelible magic marker on the way home.

Lovely weekend, and Sarah, thank you so much for all the books you dropped off.

Judy arrived last night and is slaving away as chauffeur, housekeeper, chef, shrink, and comic relief.

Dr. Korey says my recovery is "spectacular" and he does not have to see me again until he does the surgery to place my chemo port. My pathology report indicates previously undetected ductal carcinoma in situ, as well as the invasive lobular and the lobular in situ that we already knew about. Isn't that special. The path report also indicates "atypical hyperplasia" in both breasts, which some doctors consider to be an indicator of a pre-cancerous condition. SO, don't have to worry about that ever again, huh?

Dr. Bashore says I get to keep my drain over the weekend. Oh Joy. Well one is better than three, for sure. Otherwise he says I'm fine and can do a few stretching exercises. No kayaking. No even sitting on a kayak while someone else paddles because, he says, I could fall in the river and my incisions could get nasty old river water in them. Number of years I have kayaked, four. Or maybe five. Number of times I have fallen in the river, zero. But I am being a compliant patient.

I see the oncologist and Dr. Bashore again on Monday. Ya'll have a good weekend; I'm planning on having a great one.

Yessss! Got two drains out Tuesday at Dr. Bashore's office. Immediately left the office feeling more humanoid, if not quite human, and less marsupial. Bjorn took me for my daily mile to two mile mall walk. Wish we had a better mall.

I started some stretching exercises to make sure I retain as much mobility as possible in both arms.

One of my oldest friends Fred came over yesterday morning to visit and took me grocery shopping. He was very helpful reaching things on high shelves and low shelves and heavy things and carrying bags and of course driving. At his age, 78, seems ironic that he is the one helping me out instead of vice-versa. I came home from simple grocery shopping feeling like I had expended the energy of my former morning routine: walking four miles and kayaking two. It makes me feel angry to be so easily tired out, and everything takes longer than it should.

My sister Judy is driving down today from Atlanta and will stay probably until Monday or Tuesday. Tomorrow I have an 8 AM post-op appt with Dr. K and a 9:15 with Dr. B and I am really hoping to get rid of this last drain. I am planning to spend part of today baking, to bring gourmet goodies to both offices.

All is going very well.

Dr. K called this AM with the good news. Eighteen lymph nodes removed, ZERO involved. Time to throw that party! Puts me squarely in Stage One rather than Stage Two, with all the benefits that go along with that.

Sunday I engaged in a new activity that I believe is called "resting". As in "to rest", "you rested", "she is resting". It involves a lot of lying down with the remote in one hand, See Spot Run in the other hand, the Mind Numbing Time Suck of cable TV in the background, and the eyes closed a lot of the time. I was trying to save energy to go see fireworks but it was raining by then and I couldn't summon the enthusiasm. A body in motion tends to stay in motion, a body at Rest tends to stay on the Couch.

Monday I went with Donna to RonJons to buy some clothing that will accommodate my three drains without making me look like a refugee from America's Biggest Loser. In the afternoon Bjorn and I did a mile mall walk.

Donna left this AM and Judy is arriving Thursday evening. Bjorn is taking me to see Dr. Bashore this afternoon and I hope to leave two of those drains at his office.

Feeling good.

Happy Independence Day!

This is also Day 4 post op and I'm doing well.

Day 1 got discharged. My parents, satisfied that I am okay and in good hands, packed up and drove back to Atlanta, Donna walked me to the mailbox and then up and down another street. Big accomplishments for Discharge Day, don't you think?

Day 2 saw Dr. Bashore and he said everything appears to be healing normally. From a surgeon's standpoint my body is a work of art. I'm afraid he might be referring to Picasso's cubism period.

I am keeping all three drains at least until I see Dr. B this coming Tue afternoon. So far no complications.

Donna and I walked the entire mall, which my Droid assures me is .98 miles. Bjorn cooked gourmet Scottish salmon with alfredo sauce. I am going to bed pretty early these days and dozing in front of my newly installed cable TV.

Day 3, yesterday, I started cutting back on the pain meds, substituting Tylenol when possible. Bjorn and I walked the mall twice. Thats almost two miles, folks, I want kudos. Donna prepared an amazing veggie lasagna, with salad, appetizer and dessert.

Zida and Greg brought over a fragrant, ample container of very special soup. Nothing like the healing power of home cooked meals.

On the subject of newly installed cable: What a mind numbing time-suck television is. Truly the opiate of the masses. Exactly what I need during this time of healing. All those riveting books I have been saving to savor: too complex. I keep reading and re-reading the same sentences. I need something fluffy with three characters and a predictable plot. I hear that See Spot Run has some pretty good plot twists.

Thank you most of all for checking up on me and taking the time to send your positive energy. Thank you also for the plants (which I will try not to kill) and the flowers and food and other tangible signs that you care. I am getting better every day. My big goal for the day is to get out to the beach to see fireworks tonight.

The photo, if you can get it, is of my current caregiving team, Bjorn and my sister Donna. If the photos are not coming through please let me know. Seems like some people are getting them and some people are not.

Surgery went well. I saw Dr. Korey this AM and got discharged. Lauren you told me hospitals are not a place to try to rest, and this was true. It was a long long night. Despite having a room with a view. Happy to be home. So far no complications that we know of. I have a post-op with Dr. Bashore about 11 tomorrow AM. I have three drains but I am hoping to get one or two out. Modest expectations again.

This is the first time that I have ever understood the allure of pain pills.

The three of us are trying to find a working balance. I need to actually ASK for help, which is pretty hard for me to do, and I think Donna and Bjorn are trying to anticipate what I want/need so I don't have to ask.

Last night I walked all around the seventh floor at CCH. Tonight when it gets cooler I plan to get out to the mailbox, or even beyond. Now its time for me to ask one of my caregivers to take the computer off my lap.

It has been lovely to hear from so many of you via phone calls, emails, texts and even a few visitors with flowers. Thank you.

No Paparazzi!

Modest expectations this time, Ladies and Gentlemen of the blog. With or without ruby slippers we are asking for "no complications" and "fewer than four lymph nodes involved". Got that? Repeat after me: "No Complications" "Fewer than Four Lymph Nodes Involved." Well done.

HUGE surprise, my Mom and Dad called me this AM from Gainesville, Florida. They live in Atlanta. So shortly after I got home after picking my sister Donna up from MCO they arrived on my doorstep to share in the pre-operative revelry.

All of your suggestions for what to take to the hospital are being packed in an overnight bag. Well, almost all of your suggestions. Some of your suggestions, and you know who you are, were just a little too...shall we say unique?

Blog you later!

In part of my conversation with Dr. Korey on Friday he was telling me about the challenge of placing my incision:

Dr K: ...in a spot that will be close enough to where your tumor is.
Me: "Was".
Dr. K: "What?"
Me: "WAS. Where my tumor Was. I don't have a tumor any more. Now all I MAY have is microscopic tiny little bits of cells of tumor floating around in there."
Dr. K: Right. Where your tumor was.

Can you read the writing on the cake? (for those of you who missed the picture, the icing on the cake says "Kickin' Effin' Cancer's Ass"). My Crewe at work put this together for me yesterday, my last day on the job until August. Love it. Thank you!

Pre-op at CCH this past Monday. They asked me all the same questions they asked me two months ago, and took more blood, and said Oh we need a chest X-ray and an EKG. And I said Yeah, and I need to be at work in 40 minutes so can we do this another time?

Pre-op with Dr. Bashore this past Wednesday, fairly cursory. An explanation of Drain Management Technique. Then a lovely pre-op Q and A session this AM with Dr. Korey. He gave me a copy of my report from MD Anderson, explained in detail the surgery he will be doing. He said chances are good I can go home the day after surgery. He says I'll need about a month to heal before starting chemo. Dr. Levine had told me two to four weeks post-op. Hey, I'm just rollin' with it.

And of course I got the EKG and the chest Xray done, in my spare time. I'm assuming there is nothing of note there. Aside from this little cancer thing I'm healthy as a horse. I also filled pain prescrips from Dr. B that would make a junkie envious.

No more MD appts until surgery. I have to be at the hospital at 6A June 30 for surgery at 7:30, subject to change. The surgery will take about four hours. Bjorn and Donna will be hanging out at the hospital with me throughout. I am in good hands, and in good spirits.

Loved the various suggestions I got from all ya'll about what to bring to the hospital, what to read, what movies to see. Keep 'em coming!

Yes, surgery is approaching. I've been doing a few things to get ready.

I haven't spent the night in the hospital since I was born. What does one bring for a sleepover there? My favorite pillow? Laptop? Bjorn? A fine Chassagne-Montrachet? Bathrobe? Suggestions (serious or humorous) welcome.

My sister Donna is flying down for a week, arriving the day before surgery. A day or two after she leaves my sister Judy will fly in to spend some time here. My parents will also be down in July. Some very kind neighbors have offered me a spare condo in my complex in case we need some extra space.

In preparation for surgery I have pre-op appts lined up. I ordered a velcro belt that has four pockets for my drains. On the message boards women refer to the drains as "grenades" but I am choosing to think of them as "Christmas ornaments". Got a few oversized button-down-the front shirts. Got four brand new books from some of my favorite authors. This is a big deal to me because I never buy new hardback books; that is why God made libraries.

I got a little info from a nurse at the plastic surgeon Bashore's office. She says some women spend one night in the hospital, some spend two. Dr. Korey will be the one to decide when I get discharged, and will be the one to give his approval that I am healing well enough to begin chemo. Before I leave the hospital I will have a post-op appt lined up with the plastic surgeon for the following week, I will see him frequently because he will be the one to decide when my drains can come out.

The oncologist Levine's nurse says I have an appt with him July 12 and that I will probably start chemo within the following week or two if I am cleared by Dr. K.

In preparation for chemo, from ACS I got a wig, a quilt to stay warm with during chemo, a head scarf, the not-so-coveted "survivor" t-shirt in Classic Pink, (pink IS the new black) and tons of good literature, especially the pamphlet on exercise after breast surgery. I ordered a turban for lounging around the house when the time comes (and the hair goes). I'm going for 1950s glam. Think Ava Gardner in her well appointed dressing room, maybe I should get one of those long cigarette holders to complete the look....

What you can do to help me prepare is tell me the best book you read in the last year and I will add it to my stack. Ditto with movie suggestions, I can add them to my Netflix queue. Thanx!

Ya know, I really thought I would have that little lumpectomy in April and that by now I would be cheerfully stopping for radiation and doughnuts in the mornings on my way to work and then maybe skip chemo and get promoted to Happily Ever After.

Then I failed Lumpectomy 101. The best laid plans and all that.

After all my research I decided on Bilateral Mastectomy two for two, plus axillary lymph node dissection, with immediate reconstruction, and a really good chance of chemo. There were other options, and not everyone might have made the choice I'm making, but I think it's the best one for me.

The oncologist said that the BracAnalysis was negative. Yay. And the PET scan shows no indication of distant metastasis. And the oncotype testing of my tumor suggests a moderately low recurrence of cancer. So all of that is excellent news.

Oh Happy Day, finally got a surgery date at CCH for June 30! This gives me the entire month of June to kayak, maybe go to a wine tasting, hang out with friends, earn a little money, get my speedwalk on in the mornings. Not too much to blog on I think between now and then, we shall see.

Bonus trivia question: Why do plastic surgeons seem to use the word "bigger" as if it were a synonym for "better"?

All I can post this week is about what didn't happen.

I called my insurance company last week to ask for an out-of-network waiver so I can have Dr. Bashore do my reconstructive surgery. Spoke to one of an army of customer service personnel, otherwise known as satan's minions. Their job description: listen patiently, respond compassionately, enter data into a computer, promise follow up within 48 hours, and accomplish nothing.

The oncologist called me on Monday night, nothing important he said, but I missed the call and called back Tuesday to ask him to call me again. Still haven't heard from him.

Called insurance company twice on Tuesday this week and spoke with two different minions who said they lacked one crucial piece of information: do I already have the date for surgery scheduled? Well, no, kind of waiting to find out about that out-of network-waiver so I know if I can use Dr. Bashore. They promised to send my request back Upstairs and guess what, respond within 48 hours.

Called again on Wed, the next minion told me that for some reason my request had not been sent to the mysterious Upstairs and by the way, they need to know if I have a surgery date scheduled.

Called twice on Thursday, they needed to know if I have a surgery date scheduled. I finally said Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to schedule a very costly surgery without knowing if my insurance is going to pay for any of it, and then if my insurance isn't going to pay for it I'm supposed to cancel the surgery and start all over again, wasting more time? Apparently so. Which is

a. just stupid
b. why didn't the very first minion tell me that ten days earlier?

I also asked another minion to fax me an authorization to permit a third party to speak to them on my behalf, and she told me that she would be happy to do that, but that it would take three to five days for them to process that request and fax it.

Friday I called Dr. Bashore's office and spoke with Mary the Insurance Goddess. Then I went out kayaking. While I was still on the water Mary called me to tell me what part of claims my insurance company will and will not pay, and called me again to give me an estimate of what my out of pocket expenses will be. I can't tell you how refreshing it was to speak to an actual human being and get real information in response. I almost fell in the water I was so shocked and delighted.

Then I called Dr. K's office so that they can coordinate with Dr. B's office and CCH and Git 'er Done. I think I'll find out about the big date Monday.

Hence today's photo. I think we've all seen the card. Thanks Joel, it really reflects sometimes how I feel on the inside.

Got back from a marvelous little getaway where we just ate and drank and napped and looked at the ocean. There is no real news on the FC (freaking cancer) front. I am going in circles with the insurance company to get an out-of-network waiver so I can have the plastic surgeon who works out of CCH instead of the other, perfectly acceptable plastic surgeon who works out of Worstoff hospital. Once the insurance company gives me a yea or nay I can call Dr. Korey and his office will coordinate with the operating room and the plastic surgeon and I will have the big DATE.

In the meantime it seems like every day I have to call the insurance company or three or more doctors offices to elicit or provide some kind of information, and there is the endless re-routing of calls, the bottomless pit of voicemail, and the waiting for and missing returned calls. Except with Dr. Korey's office which is wonderful.

Also, I did get my PET scan results and although I haven't yet had the official explanation from the oncologist (that appt is Monday next week), from what the nurse told me there is nothing unexpectedly bad in it. Yay!

And on a humorous note, when we were sitting in the airport to leave town last week this larger-than-life woman came huffing up with two giant shoulder bags. Glamorous gal with big jewelry and bright clothes and big makeup, and the first thing out of her mouth as she sat down next to us was that she'd had a mastectomy 16 years ago and it was harder to carry stuff now. So I told her my situation and Lord, was she enthusiastic. She stripped off her jacket to show me where they took her body fat from her back to reconstruct her, and then she's patting the bare part of her humongous breast and saying to me "just feel this, just put your hand right here" and I'm saying "Girlfriend, I am not putting my hand on your boob in the middle of the Orlando airport".

One out of eight women, my friends.

Taking some time out to enjoy life.

Picture worth a thousand words.

Back to reality 5/17.

Just tying up a few loose ends after spending last week with multiple medical experts, reading lots of journal articles, and talking to some very upbeat breast cancer survivors. I now know more than I ever wanted to about the topic. Before we left for MD Anderson I told Bjorn that I wanted to come away from that facility feeling like THIS is The Place I Want To Be Treated, above all others. It was obviously a terrific facility, but I didn't get that feeling. So I'm hoping to finalize some things this week and plan for surgery here in podunk Brevard county early in June.

Saturday Bjorn took me out on Kathy and Randy's tandem kayak. I thought I was all tough and brought my own paddle as well. Shocked to find that after 20 strokes my arm felt like lead. Okay, just going to have to build up to my usual two mile meandering. Even so, just being on the water has such a magical effect.

If I might cease and desist for a moment from this endless self absorption:

Props to my primo caregiver Bjorn. I'm getting so much support from so many people, and many of you have been kind enough to ask how Bjorn is doing. Especially in the context that my dx occurred roughly two weeks after his mom died quite unexpectedly.

I'm here to tell ya, he's been amazing. We are both staggering through some previously uncharted terrain here, propping eachother up, and I'd have to say he's doing most of the propping. It has been helpful to have him at some of the recent MD appts for moral support as well as for taking notes while I get examined. He has made gourmet meals to tempt me when I have no appetite, distracted me, encouraged me, reassured me, loved me, cajoled me, entertained me, calmed me, and demonstrated in so many ways that he is in this for the long haul.

And he manages to look really fine while he is doing all of this.

Ok, enough ceasing and desisting. Lets get back to sending the rest of that positive and healing energy in MY direction.

A woman can never be too rich or too thin?

Well Wallis Simpson was wrong on one account. According to Dr. Diaz, the plastic surgeon I saw Friday, I am not a candidate for using my body fat for reconstructing any of my parts. It was almost humorous. He's saying "push your stomach out" and I'm saying "I AM pushing it out." Also Dr. Diaz does not have a good poker face at all. Since I am a psychologist, many of my friends and associates have a very good poker face. Dr. Diaz, as I was asking him about treatment options he did not consider to be in my best interest, was making faces like I was subjecting him to a series of really noxious smells, to the point where I actually said to him "look at what you are doing with your face!" Very expressive.

Monday I saw Dr. Levine, which was not very productive. I waited an hour to get in to see him, and then he didn't have the results of the BRACanalysis because his office failed to send in my family history of cancer so it didn't get approved by insurance, and the tumor analysis wasn't back yet, and I was kind of feeling like What Am I Doing Here? This is two hours out of my life that I will never get back. The positive point is that he did order a PET/CT scan, and his staff called me today and I am having it tomorrow AM. It should light up any metastases, although I really doubt I have any. And the BRACanalysis lady called me today to say that now that Dr. Levine's office sent my family history, my test is approved and covered 100 percent by my insurance. Results in about two weeks.

This AM I saw Dr. Korey. Got to love Dr. Korey. He is straightforward, plain-spoken, makes me feel like a human being, went over all my options with me (again), all the pros and cons, answered every question I could think of even if the answer was not pleasant. Dr. K doubts that the axillary lymph node dissection will yield any further evidence of metastasis. Me too. But we gotta do it. Dr. K said that if the river is really flat this weekend then maybe I can do a little paddling, and that I can go in the pool when I have my mini-getaway later in the month (no diving).

In the meantime, I'm working to maintain a healthy balance of life and healing and work. I walked Friday and Saturday and Sunday and I can't tell you how great it felt to get my whole body in motion. I did lots of resting over the weekend. We spent Saturday evening with some cherished friends and there was lots of interesting conversation and laughter. I'm healing great and that spastic hand is getting better by degrees.

I appreciate each and every one of you who are checking in with me by card or email or phone or smoke signal. I am touched to hear from people I don't really know who are taking the time to send me a kind word or a kind thought.

Remember that big ol' party you threw for all your friends and neighbors as soon as you read about the ruby slippers working their magic for clear lymph nodes? Well we are unfortunately all the victims of premature party-ation. Further path analysis revealed a little bitty 1mm tumor in one of the sentinel lymph nodes.

A great big hurrah for the development of cytokeratin immunostains, right? Without which I would have gone blithely on my way....

In the meantime, going back to work has been really good for me. This weekend I hope to get a good walk on every day, since I won't be spending all day at the office. I'm sure the return to walking will be therapeutic as well.

Healing is going great. Hand strength and coordination, well okay I'm still a spaz, but I was never that graceful to begin with.

I have a bottle of Dom Perignon in the wine chiller (thanx Nancy L) that I have clearly labeled REMISSION for the future!

Lots of good news and a little bad news, my friends.

Good news: Path report confirms lymph nodes all clear! The tumor at its largest point was 1 centimeter. Yay! Current diagnosis is stage 1b. Happiness now, and living happily ever after. Who would think that something the size of an almond is going to require so much accommodation this year.

Bad news: the margins, not clear. There is a 1 millimeter clear margin and apparently the standard of care is 5 mm. We are talking a difference of less than the length of my little fingernail here, but I'm going to have to have another surgery. Dr. Korey's office called Friday and offered me a surgery date of May 7, and I said "no". In a more eloquent fashion, I hope.

I'm in no rush. The big bad tumor is gone, right? And on Wed Dr. K had given me the green light to take a few days off from work and from being a Patient. I booked a getaway ASAP. In mid-May I get to get out of town and enjoy life for a few days. As long as I don't lift a suitcase.

I have an appointment with a plastic surgeon 4/30, the oncologist 5/3, Dr. K 5/4, and MD Anderson 5/6. In the meantime, I'm doing one of the things I do best: gather and analyze information. Then I can make a decision about the best course of action for me based on fact and expert opinion.

My sister left this AM amid much wailing, gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, and tearing of hair on my part. Ok, the wailing is exaggerated and I am certainly not giving up one precious hair out of this head until absolutely necessary. I cannot begin to enumerate the ways, large and small, in which she supported me this week. It is all about keeping things in perspective.

Overall, I think I'm doing great. Judy took my bandages off this AM as per Dr. K's orders. I have mostly passed on pain pills in favor of Tylenol for a few days now. The numbness seems to be getting a little better. I am able to lift a small glass of water off the table with my right hand, a superhuman feat which I demonstrated to the approbation of friends recently. Although I wouldn't bet on getting said glass as far as my lips.

Mega-thanx to the crew at Sarah's house last night. When I arrived there and found the front door wrapped in pink with the humongous breast cancer ribbon. I doubled over in laughter. I know that, and everything that followed was a team effort. My friends and family will always be a way bigger part of my life than this transient encounter with cancer.

Your unstinting positive energy is doing a fine job of winning out. CLEAR LYMPH NODES! I am so happy. The frozen sections of the sentinel node are clear, which makes it a 95 percent chance that the cancer hasn't spread. They took sections from three axillary lymph nodes which are being biopsied in a lab so they can make it 100 percent sure. Because the SLN was clear I didn't have to go home with a tube for drainage, which would have been very demoralizing.

MARGINS: Won't know if the margins are clear until the pathology lab processes the tumor. If the margins are clear then I can avoid another surgery. If the margins are not clear then here we go again. I should have that info middle of next week.

When we got home from the hospital at about 5:30 I tried to eat some avocado, and I slept, and I got up and tried to eat again but I literally could not keep my eyes open. I mean, I was falling asleep in mid-chew.

Today I am much better. I have two incisions. The one on my breast is no big deal. The one under my armpit is a royal BITCH. And there is numbness and weakness in my right hand. Like I can't hold a glass or a comb or a toothbrush. Silver lining is I get to practice being ambidextrous, Just got back from a post-op with Dr. K and he thinks the numbness will go away, that its from the positioning of my arm during surgery. I got a prescrip for antibiotics too.

I rescheduled my appointment at MD Anderson for May 6 so I will have path lab reports to bring with me. Now I can just hang out and heal and get waited on like Princess Nephratata.

I can't thank you enough for the cards and calls and everything else you have done to make my life easier and to show me that you care. Keep up the Clean Margins mantra, and I will keep CHARGING down the road to recovery.

RUBY SLIPPERS, Ya'll.

The pre-op, since some of you have asked, was just an interview for medical history by a nurse, and then getting stuck, again, for some blood tests.

My sister Judy drove down from Atlanta yesterday and will stay as long as needed, or until she can go home with a really good tan, whichever comes first. Bjorn will also be off work Tuesday and Wednesday.

My orders for tomorrow include nothing to eat or drink after midnight, then in the morning at home there is some strange ritual involving ointments and saran wrap that would be kind of kinky under other circumstances, arrive at the hospital by 6:30, wire localization at 8, radioactive injections at 9, scan to make sure radioactive injections are doing what they are supposed to be doing at 10, and surgery at 11:15.

Now I have my own Doctors Orders for you, Ladies and Gentleman of the Blog. Tomorrow morning when you get up, those of you who have ruby slippers (and you know who you are), put them on and click your heels together while you say "clear margins, clear lymph nodes, clear margins, clear lymph nodes".

If you don't have ruby slippers, well that's just sad and it's a situation you really should go out and remediate. In the meantime you can compensate for that by saying "clear margins, clear lymph nodes, clear margins, clear lymph nodes" but you have to say it much louder and with FEELING.

Thanx to all of you who have been checking in with me.

Tuesday I had a contrast MRI at CCH. That was definitely a weird experience to collect. Then I went upstairs to the oncologist's office and got stuck in the other arm to draw blood for the BRCA analysis test. Since my grandmother had breast cancer and my sister had ovarian last year(past tense: goodbye and good riddance to the OC) genetic testing is important. The results of the BRCA will take a few weeks.

Dr. K called this AM to tell me my MRI shows no other suspicious spots. Yay! We are go for launch on Tuesday 4/20.

MOST importantly, he answered my burning question about getting out of town for a few days post-op and pre-chemo/radiation with a resounding YES. Another yay. For once this year a doc is saying all the things I want to hear.

Got a pre-op at CCH scheduled for this AM before work. That makes four medical appointments so far this week. That's more than I usually have in a whole year. The pre-op coordinator told me to bring a list of my medications. That's easy enough: NONE. I keep telling these people I'm healthy as a horse, and they keep telling me I have cancer.

Second opinion appointment regarding treatment protocol scheduled at MD Anderson 4/22.

Other than that, just keeping up with work and life. MacKays have this idiosyncratic trait: before leaving for vacation the house has to be in order. Magnify that times ten, apparently, for pre-surgery. This not sleeping thing has some advantages in terms of getting stuff done. There's always a silver lining.

Met with Dr. Levine yesterday. He was very patient with me. I took copious notes on everything he said, and then at my request he went over the massive and detailed amount of information again, and again if I asked. Dang. If anyone out there comes across my 40 missing IQ points, please put them in an envelop and send them, overnight express.

Bottom line is that the limited prognostic indicators in the path report are favorable. Dr. L is going to have tissue samples from my tumor sent to a company called Genomic Health. They then analyze the tumor on a molecular level and provide him with a report that predicts response to chemo, survival rates, chances of recurrence, etc, and is intrinsic, along with a few other variables, in treatment planning post-surgery.

He is leaning toward chemo for three to six months followed by radiation for 8 weeks. Lucky for me, I know someone who has a closet full of "cranial prosthetics". I have a follow up appt with him 5/3 to go over tissue test results and plan a treatment protocol.

It was a great weekend. Walked every day. Paddled in the Thousand Islands both days, very dreamlike, serene. Got to spend some unexpected and treasured time with friends both Saturday and Sunday. Cancer is bad, but life is good.

I have a feeling that there's going to be lots of information to disseminate in the coming months and while I adore phone calls and emails and especially cards, it occured to me that in addition to this it might be helpful if I have a place to post updates you can check on when you don't have time to call or email.

I have invasive carcinoma in my right breast, probably lobular in origin. Found TFL (the freaking lump) late in January. Waited a month for it to go away. Saw the OBGYN, got diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. The radiology report said that there was a 95 to 100 percent chance that I have cancer. Had an ultrasound guided core needle biopsy 4/5. It went quite well and kudos to Dr. Gordon and the staff at the Women's Diagnostic Center at Cape Canaveral Hospital for a job well done. The results confirm the cancer.

Today I saw my surgeon, Dr. Korey. I have much faith in him. He patiently presented all my options and the pros and cons associated with each. At my request he scheduled an MRI for 4/13. Surgery is scheduled for 4/20 at CCH. Leaning toward a lumpectomy with sentinel lymph node biopsy. Axillary lymph node dissection will be done at that time if necessary.

I have an appointment with Dr. Richard Levine, an oncologist at the Space Coast Cancer Care Centers 4/12, and I'm planning to get a second opinion at MD Anderson in Orlando.

I feel fine! Still walking, kayaking, eating, working, in good spirits, all the usual stuff. Okay, maybe not sleeping so well. I'm soaking up positive energy like a sponge, so send some my way.